


Of Marks and Claims

by nanuk_dain



Series: Of Soldiers and Secrets [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speirs is not the only one who is possessive. Or: How Captain Speirs got bitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Marks and Claims

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)   


 

They were doing it again.

Luz leaned back on the bench of the truck and looked over his shoulder so that he had a better view of the jeep next to which Speirs and Lip were standing with Nixon, Winters and Welsh, discussing something he couldn't hear from this distance. But he wasn't really interested in their words, anyway.

And there, again. Lip this time, a short, quick glance at Speirs who returned it as if he'd known it would come. Then they were focussed back on the conversation going on, probably something about the route for today, according to the way Nixon was pointing out things on one of his multiple maps. Luz began counting in his head and he reached forty-six before Speirs' eyes flickered over to Lip.

Luz allowed his smirk to show and huffed out a blueish cloud of smoke. It had started after Rachamps. Or at least, that was the first time he'd begun to notice the various forms of looks and glances between the lieutenant and his first sergeant. Before that, it had only been the touching, not those looks. Oh, Speirs still _did_ touch Lip, no changes here, but Luz had the impression that now, Lip returned those touches.

Ha, _impression_! He'd _seen_ it.

The way Lip's hand sometimes grazed the lieutenant's lower back, almost accidentally, the way Lip leaned into Speirs' hand on his shoulder or on his arm, the way Lip seemed to smile more. Luz had never expected to say – or even think – that, but Speirs was doing Lip good. Although Luz didn't really want to know in which way. But he was sure that something had happened at Rachamps, and Luz prided himself in the knowledge that it was thanks to him opening Lip's eyes.

And here we go again, Luz thought and pulled on his cigarette. Speirs this time. Short glance, maybe a whole conversation without a word.

In the course of the past few days, watching Speirs and Lip had become his favourite pasttime. They almost reminded him of Winters and Nixon, only that those two had long since stopped trying to hide their shared glances. But with Speirs and Lip, this was still new. Luz was pretty sure he was the only one who'd noticed it. Speirs and Lip had been getting along perfectly from the very beginning, and while that was something _everybody_ had noticed – apart from Lip, of course – the new level to their relationship was subtle, and the men had already got used to the way Speirs treated Lip differently. Hell, they counted on it when there were unpleasant news to transmit to the lieutenant. Buffer Lipton was working better than ever.

The group next to the jeep dissolved, Speirs climbing in with Nixon and Winters in the jeep two rows in the front, Welsh taking the one they'd been standing next to, and Lip walked over to the truck Luz and the men were sitting on. Wordlessly, Luz extended his hand and pulled Lip on the truck bed. He moved over to his left on the bench so that Lip could sit down next to him, and offered him the still burning Lucky Strike.

“So, Lip, how far are we going today?”

“Captain Nixon says we should get to Luxembourg by nightfall.” Lip replied and gratefully accepted the almost-gone smoke.

“We're staying there for long?” Luz asked and took the cigarette back.

“No, only for the night.” Lip leaned back against the side of the truck, getting comfortable for the long hours of drive that lay ahead of them. It was early morning and there was nothing else to do but sit and wait while the trucks drove towards the next stop of their journey.

“Long drive.” Luz remarked and flipped the burnt down cigarette over the side of the truck.

Lip turned his head towards Luz and held out a new Lucky Strike, a smirk on his lips. “Want to share another?”

Luz eyed the cigarette suspiciously. Lip _never_ had his own smokes. He didn't even have a lighter. “Is that one from Speirs?”

Lip just chuckled, his eyes sprinkling with amusement. “Maybe.”

“That man is spoiling you, Lip.” Luz replied with an indignant huff, but he was already reaching for his lighter. “Really.”

Lip didn't say anything, his smirk just widened. With the Lucky Strike between his lips he bent over to accept the flame Luz offered, then he inhaled the smoke before he handed the cigarette over to Luz.

***

They were on their way to Haguenau, spending most of their days on the trucks and the nights in whatever town they reached before nightfall or slept outside when there wasn't any town. It was a strange mix of busy and bored, most of the boys spent the time either playing cards, reading or sleeping, trying to get as much rest as they could before they reached Haguenau.

Lipton did his best to encourage them. He knew how important it was for his boys to unwind at least for a few days, even if it was on the back of the trucks. Especially now that their return to Mourmelon had been cancelled. He himself spent his time between the men and the commanding officers, and he was busier than he'd expected with all the time they spent on the road.

And he was infinitely glad for every busy moment. Because ever since he'd seen Speirs smile at him in the convent at Rachamps, something had been building up inside him. Some kind of tension that didn't let his thoughts come to rest. Maybe it had been building even longer, maybe since George Luz had told him that Speirs treated him differently. Maybe even since Foy, Lipton couldn't really tell anymore. He just knew that it had become a constant presence in his mind.

And with it came the urge to touch. First, it had been silent, almost non-existent, but with every day that had passed, with every time he'd felt Speirs rest his hand on his arm, his shoulder, his back, it had become stronger. Until it wasn't possible to ignore it anymore, until his fingers itched with the urge to _feel_. He had never experienced such... _desire_. It was then that he'd first dared to touch his hand to Speirs' lower back when they'd been bent over a map in whatever room Speirs had commandeered for them for the night. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen, but he felt Speirs press back into his hand, throwing him a quick glance and a hint of a smile, never stopping in his explanations. For Lipton, that had been enough.

Back in the Rachamps, in the convent, when he'd pulled Speirs into an embrace in their shared cell, he'd done it without even thinking about it. He hadn't considered ranks or appropriateness or possible risks; it had been an instinct, a reflex, driven by the spontaneous urge to support and to protect. He hadn't really been surprised when Speirs had accepted the unspoken comfort, although Lipton knew he should have been. Speirs wasn't the kind of man who leaned on others, who showed the need for comfort. In fact, he could have had Lipton punished for overstepping his boundaries this much, could even have had him court-martialled. Instead, he'd leaned in, had taken refuge in Lipton's embrace for a moment that Lipton would never be able to determine in its length. It could have been minutes or hours.

When Speirs had straightened and pulled back, Lipton had let him go without resisting. He'd been given another one of those beautiful smiles and an almost silent 'thank you', then Speirs had retreated to his bedroll, back turned towards the wall, hand on his rifle next to him, and it had been clear that the moment was over.

That night, it had taken Lipton a long time to fall asleep.

The next day, he'd felt his eyes scanning the men for Speirs' familiar form. More than once. And he'd been surprised how often he'd met those green eyes watching him. By the end of the day, Lipton had realised that they had established a routine of looks and glances, had started to communicate through them. It had felt incredibly good, and he'd had to fight the urge to smile every time he caught Speirs' eyes.

It had only intensified this nameless desire to touch, every gaze had brought him closer to the breaking point. Lipton had never thought of himself as an impatient man, but right now, there was no other word to describe this: The urge to touch Speirs was almost overwhelming, every moment he spent out of sight of his lieutenant made Lipton crave his presence. But when Speirs was standing next to him, Lipton had to fight to keep control of his body, to keep his distance. Today, he'd already found himself reaching out twice, and both times he'd been able to mask the motion at the last moment. Lipton couldn't remember ever having felt such an intense craving, such a _need_ for another person. He wanted to touch, no, he _needed_ to touch Speirs, wanted to find out what he felt like under his fingers. He was surprised and shocked by the strength of that emotion.

It was still day when they reached the little town Captain Nixon had suggested for the night, and Lipton was relieved to get off the truck, away from his torturing thoughts. He threw himself into the organisation of the accommodation for the men for the night, sending teams out to clear houses and others to unpack the trucks and get food ready. He embraced the multiple tasks eagerly, glad for every moment they distracted his mind, kept it from wandering back to Speirs and his smile. He still didn't know how to deal with this thing he had developed for the lieutenant, so he preferred not to think about it at all.

The sun was beginning to lower by the time the men were settled. Lipton sat with Malarkey, Luz, Bull, Babe and Liebgott around a small table in the kitchen of a flat that had been vacated for the night, a metal mug in his hands with something inside that he didn't actually recognise. But food was food, and he'd long since stopped being picky. It was warm, it was edible, it didn't stink. That was enough for him after Bastogne.

He'd just taken up Luz' spoon to get the last bit of the unidentifiable something out of his mug when a young private from another company knocked on the doorframe of the kitchen, his helmet in his hands, his expression insecure, his cheeks bright red and his breath quick, as if he'd been running. “Excuse me, sirs, I'm looking for First Sergeant Lipton...”

Lipton turned his attention from the spoon to the half-panicked private. “That's me.”

“Thank God! I finally found you!” the private blurted out without paying attention to his words in his relief. The men on the table only looked at him with surprise on their faces.

“Calm down, boy.” Bull said around his cigar. “What is it?”

“Lieutenant Speirs, sir, he...” As if realising how panicked and unprofessional he sounded, the private turned a shade darker and straightened to stand at attention. “I mean, sorry, sir. Lieutenant Speirs send me to find you and bring you to him, sir.”

“Did he threaten to give you a cigarette, boy, or why are you so out of it?” Bull asked with a hint of amusement in his voice and leaned back in his chair.

“No, sir, he didn't offer me a cigarette.” The private replied with a confused frown.

“No reason to panic then, boy.” Luz added and grinned rather slyly, obviously enjoying this immensely. “If he wanted to kill you, he would have offered one.”

The private actually managed to blanch under the red of his cheeks. “He just said that if I didn't bring First Sergeant Lipton to him within the next ten minutes, he'd find a better place for me to be.”

“By the way, that wasn't a promise but a threat.” Liebgott added casually from behind the table, and Lipton knew he had just as much fun messing with the poor boy's mind as Luz and Bull.

“Yeah, that's just Speirs being Speirs.” Luz said and shrugged. Lipton noticed the way the private started to shift nervously on his feet and decided to put an end to this.

“I'm coming with you right now.” Lipton said with a glance at the private and set his mug down on the table. He stood up, took his rifle from where it had rested against his chair and turned towards the door. “See you later, boys.”

“Good luck, Lip!” Luz said with a huge grin. “At least you know he doesn't kill _you_ after offering a cigarette.”

“Very funny, Luz.” Lipton replied, but he couldn't keep the smirk off his face entirely. The private next to him just looked even more panicked, so Lipton clasped his shoulder in brief reassurance and steered him out of the kitchen. Once they'd left the house, the private almost ran through the streets towards something that looked like a little inn. He led Lipton to the second floor and knocked on the door with a slightly trembling hand.

“Come in.” A voice came from inside and Lipton had no problem identifying it as Speirs'. The private opened the door and let Lipton in first, then he stood next to him. “Sir, I brought First Sergeant Lipton.”

“Ah yes, Lieutenant Lipton.” Speirs said and straightened up from where he'd been bent over a map with Nixon. Lipton had noticed that ever since Rachamps, Speirs had always referred to him with his new rank, although the official promotion hadn't come through yet. It somehow made him feel good, he liked the sound of Speirs calling him lieutenant. It had something private to it, especially because at the moment, he was the only one doing it. Consequently, the young private next to him frowned in confusion at the different addresses.

“Come over here, Lip, we need some intel from you.” Nixon said over the rim of his whiskey glass and waved Lipton over. The private remained standing where he was, unsure if he was actually allowed to leave, and Lipton saw him glancing around nervously.

“You may leave, private.” Speirs just said without looking at the man. Lipton noticed how the boy hushed out of the door as if he couldn't leave fast enough, and he was sure there were new rumours about to be born.

Speirs joined them at the table and within minutes, they were deep in a discussion about the route for the next few days, about which towns to pass and which to avoid, about the problem of supplies and the order of the trucks. More than once, Lipton felt his gaze attracted by the beautiful line of Speirs' throat that was exposed by the unbuttoned collar of his uniform shirt. He had to force himself to look away, to keep his mind focussed on the map and not on the thoughts about how the skin would feel under his lips. This was becoming a problem, it started to interfere with his job, and he couldn't let that happen.

“Do you need anything else, Ron?” Nixon asked when they were through all the important points.

“Could you leave me the maps, sir?” Speirs pointed at the mess on the table. “I want to go over them with the lieutenant.”

“Sure thing.” Nixon just shrugged and walked over to the door, only stopping when he was halfway through, handle in his hand. “Just give them to me tomorrow before we leave.”

Speirs just nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“See you in the morning.” Nixon threw a casual wave back over his shoulder and closed the door behind him. Lipton looked after him until the sound of boots on the floor made him turn. Speirs was back at the table, head bent down, looking at one of the maps.

Lipton's eyes wandered back to the patch of exposed skin under Speirs' jaw and he felt his mouth go dry. Oh God, he was obsessed with his Lieutenant's throat, and there was no reasonable explanation for his behaviour. When he raised his gaze, he was caught by the green of Speirs' eyes focussed on him. Immediately, Lipton felt heat rise into his cheeks, a blush that he knew was so fierce that it would reach down his neck. Speirs didn't do anything, he just held his gaze.

Lipton found that he couldn't look away.

***

Ronald Speirs had always been a disciplined man. He had a quick temper and he knew it, so he usually kept it in check. But Carwood Lipton was really doing his best to make him lose that control. And the worst part of it was that Speirs was sure the good lieutenant wasn't even aware of it.

First that embrace at Rachamps. It had given Speirs a taste of what could be, of what kind of man Lipton was. Of his earnesty, his strength, his care, his support. His _decency_. Then the looks had begun. He had been surprised to find them directed at him so many times, then he'd realised he only knew because he'd been looking himself. After that, he'd done it consciously, and it hadn't even taken a day and he'd been able to communicate with his lieutenant-to-be by glances alone. It had only intensified with every day that had passed, and Speirs found he enjoyed it, that he actually looked forward to their little exchanges.

Then there had been the hand on his lower back. It had surprised him, he hadn't expected Lipton to be that bold. But he hadn't minded it, to the contrary, he'd enjoyed it. So he'd leaned in, giving the subtle signal that the touch was welcome. From then on, the strain on his control had grown exponentially, because every graze from Lipton's hand on his back, of his shoulder against Speirs', as innocent as it was, had made him want more. But he admitted freely that he didn't know Lipton well enough to be able to tell if it was only friendly bonding or if it was more. And Speirs was still his superior officer, it wasn't his place to initiate anything. He could be court-martialled for it if he'd misinterpreted anything. And contrary to what the rumours said, he hadn't made it a habit to shoot his men.

So he'd held back. As long as he could. That was, until one evening in a commandeered room somewhere along the route to Haguenau, he'd looked up from the map he had wanted to go over with the lieutenant and found the man staring at his throat with such a mesmerised look of desire on his face that Speirs felt his blood rush south instantly. When Lipton had raised his gaze and met his, Speirs could read everything in that expressive face. He'd never seen such heat in those beautiful brown eyes, and he felt the quickened beat of his heart throb within his whole body.

And then there was the flicker of Lipton's tongue passing over his bottom lip, either in a nervous gesture or in an attempt to wet his lips, and Speirs knew he'd reached his limits and passed beyond. He had straightened up and crossed the distance between them before he'd even thought about doing it, and then his hands had taken hold of the lapels of Lipton's uniform to pull him close. Lipton was probably as surprised by his actions as Speirs himself was, because there was no resistance and the lieutenant's body came flush against his. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes were dark with the pupils blown wide.

It was enough for Speirs to take the final step and claim those lips in a kiss that was more forceful than he had intended. Lipton's body went rigid under his hands, but only for a moment, then the lips under his opened, let him in. It was hesitant, and even through the haze of his desire, that was enough to make Speirs realise that Lipton was probably new to kissing another man. It made him slow down, take his time with this first encounter, with this first kiss. His hands loosened their harsh grip on the lapels of Lipton's uniform jacket and wandered up, touched his neck, caressed his jaw, buried in his hair.

He could feel the change in the body pressed against his own, felt it melt into him even before he heard the hoarse moan that was mostly swallowed by their kiss. The tongue against his own began to return his caress, first slowly and tentatively, then it grew bolder and chased his tongue back into his own mouth, challenging him in the most satisfying way. Speirs felt hands come to rest on his shoulders, then one of them slid up to his jaw, the other down his back, closing around his waist and pulling him closer. Speirs chuckled into Lipton's mouth, positively surprised by the change in his demeanour.

As if the sound had sparked something in Lipton, something fierce, Speirs felt how he was suddenly pushed backwards until his back connected with the wall. The breath rushed out of his lungs for a moment, but before he could react in any way, Lipton's lips were back on his and a tongue entered his mouth, hard and wet and _demanding_. The hand on his waist had tightened, holding him in place while at the same time pulling him closer, and with a low groan, Speirs pushed into the hard body in front of him and curled his hands around Lipton's jaw, turning his head into a better angle so that he could deepen the kiss.

God, he wanted more than just this kiss. He craved to feel the pale skin under his fingertips, craved to make Carwood writhe with pleasure, make him lose his mind with desire. So he let his fingers find the buttons of Lipton's uniform jacket, undoing them with the practise of somebody who'd been wearing this kind of clothes for years, never once needing to look at what he was doing. He slid his hands under the jacket and pushed it off Carwood's shoulders, not caring where it landed, and he pulled the regulation white shirt out of the fatigue pants. When his hands touched the bare skin of his stomach, Carwood shuddered in his arms, his fingers digging in Speirs' back and his mouth left Speirs' to open in a surprised groan.

“Oh my God! Sir!” His voice was deliciously breathless and made a shiver run down Speirs' back.

“Ron.” He heard himself murmur against the skin under his lips, not bothering to hide his smile. “It's Ron.”

“Don't stop, Ron.” Lipton's voice was rough, hoarse as if he was trying to reign in his emotions, or maybe not to lose himself in the pleasure, and Speirs had never heard him sound like that before. It made his blood boil, but it also reminded him of the situation they were in. They hadn't even locked the door.

“Do you know what you're doing here, Carwood?” Ron had to force himself to ask, feeling that he had to give Lipton one last way out.

“I have no idea, sir... Ron.” Carwood breathed against his neck, his tongue flickering over the skin below Ron's ear and almost making him lose the last shred of his control. Ron felt his eyes fall close and in an unconscious gesture, he arched his head back to give Carwood better access to his throat. Teeth scratched over his skin, biting gently, and when Carwood spoke again, his voice was dark and throaty and just incredibly wanton. "But I don't want to stop."

Ron couldn't contain the shudder that passed through him at the sound of Carwood's voice, it felt like a caress from the inside, and he knew he wanted to hear it again. Nobody would ever believe the always upright and decent Lieutenant Carwood Lipton to be capable of such an erotic tone of voice, and Speirs enjoyed the knowledge that he was the only person who'd heard it.

“Door.” Ron growled and forced himself to let go of Carwood, who looked at him with a confused and almost hurt expression, not understanding what Speirs was doing. Ron took the few steps over to the door to turn the key, and on his way back he opened his jacket and his shirt. Carwood's gaze was focussed on his every movement, his eyes dark again, now that he'd understood that their encounter wasn't over yet. He looked beautifully debauched with his hair messed up by Ron's fingers, his lips red and swollen from their kisses, his uniform halfway undone and a patch of the skin of his stomach visible where his shirt rode up. Ron felt his fingers itch with the urge to touch, and he shrugged out of his own jacket and shirt as quickly as he could.

“Gosh, Car, get rid of that shirt!” Ron growled under his breath when he reached Carwood, the only thought in his mind was that he wanted to feel skin on skin, and he wanted it now. He felt that if Carwood didn't remove his clothes, Ron would just rip them off. The thought must have been written in his face, because with a smirk that was almost teasing, Carwood grabbed the hem of his shirt and his undershirt and pulled them over his head without hesitation. His dog tags rattled quietly when they fell back on his bare skin, and Ron couldn't help staring.

He hadn't actually known what he'd expected, but it had certainly not been the strongly muscled arms and the broad shoulders. Under the multiple layers of their uniforms, nothing of it showed, but now that he had Carwood's upper body stripped off all clothing, he found it strangely arousing to realise that Carwood was actually bulkier than he was. That the circle of his arms promised a strength that equalled his own. He instinctively knew he could let go of his control and trust Carwood to be able to take it.

Ron felt as if he was mesmerised, and he stepped closer and reached out with his hand without it being a conscious decision. His fingers found Carwood's side, wandered over the skin to his stomach, up his chest and his shoulder. Then his hand buried in Carwood's hair and it was as if the spell that had kept Lipton motionless had been broken, because he stepped forwards, his hands found Ron's waist and pulled him in until their bodies were touching from head to toe. His mouth came down on Ron's with the force of passion and he turned them around until Ron found himself pressed against the wall again, the stone cold against the bare skin of his back, and Ron felt his arousal grow tenfold by the demonstration of strength. He'd always been attracted by strength, and without being aware of it, Carwood gave him exactly what he wanted. Needed.

Ron returned the kiss with no less passion, his hands touching whatever part of Carwood they could reach, and it wasn't long until his fingers had found and opened the fastenings of Carwood's fatigues. His hand slid inside and took a firm hold of the hardness, stroking along it teasingly, and Carwood suddenly let go of his lips and panted against Ron's neck, his forehead coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Ron, Ron, Ron...” His voice was low, muffled due to Carwood pressing his lips against the skin of Ron's shoulder in an attempt to keep quiet, and the sound of his name uttered with such pleasure made Ron light-headed. Carwood Lipton coming apart under his hands was one of the most exciting feelings he'd ever experienced.

Ron moved his hand a little faster, applying a bit more pressure and he felt Carwood's breath hitched against his skin. Ron turned his head and licked along the shell of Carwood's ear, causing another shudder in the body pressed against his, then he whispered, “Touch me, Car.”

Carwood didn't hesitate for even a moment. His fingers, quick and deft, found their way into Ron's underwear faster than he'd expected, and the firm grip of fingers around him had Ron gasp in a surge of surprised pleasure. He was pressed back against the wall with the thrusts of Carwood's hips, matching the rhythm Carwood set with his own hand on Ron's erection, and he could only let his head fall back against the wall and allow pleasure to take over. His free hand settled on Carwood's arm in an attempt to hold himself up with his knees threatening to buckle under the strain of arousal, and then there was a pain at his collarbone, sharp and intense, and it made him groan, made his vision go blurry, made his hands claw into the skin under his fingers. He came with a suddenness he hadn't expected, that took him by surprise, and the intensity of the sensation overwhelmed him. He tried to keep the moan quiet, because he knew he wasn't able to hold it back entirely, and his hips bucked under Carwood's hands. His hand closed around Carwood's hardness in reflex, and it seemed to be exactly what he'd needed, because Ron heard him groan against his neck and felt the hot wetness in his hand.

Ron just stayed where he was, pressed against the wall by Carwood's body, and tried to regain his breathing. Carwood's head was resting on Ron's shoulder and his harsh panting was like a warm, wet caress on his skin. When he'd come down enough that his breathing was almost normal again, Ron found the energy it took to stand on his own legs and let go of his grip on Carwood's arm. There were dark, finger-shaped bruises, a sharp contrast to Carwood's fair skin, and Ron couldn't help feeling a certain kind of pride at the marks. It was vaguely mixed with a feeling of guilt for hurting Lipton, though, and he let his fingertips stroke over the bruised flesh, a ghost of a touch, a caress, an excuse.

A claim.

He heard Carwood's low chuckle next to his ear, felt his breath on his bare shoulder. “You enjoyed marking me, didn't you?”

Ron just smirked.

It was only some hours later, when Nixon threw him a scarf with a huge grin on his face, that Ron became aware of the bite mark on his collarbone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't entirely get the last line, read 'Of Scarfs and Coughs'... ^_~
> 
>  
> 
> The beautiful banner for the series was made by my dear Megan_Moonlight!


End file.
